


welcome to my world

by crunchrapsupreme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Body Paint, Fluff, M/M, Riding, really gay descriptive sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchrapsupreme/pseuds/crunchrapsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco leans down to brush his lips against Jean’s ear. “How about you take a break from studying, hm?”</p><p>Jean feels heat creep up his neck, and he turns around to bump his nose with Marco’s. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”</p><p>Marco hums and grins, says, “Let me paint you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	welcome to my world

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday marco bodt have some porn
> 
> inspired by [this post](http://crunchrapsupreme.tumblr.com/post/88892850063/simplysimplifysimplicity-this-was-whipped-up)
> 
> also i have [a tumblr](http://crunchrapsupreme.tumblr.com/post/89111388753/welcome-to-my-world-jean-marco-nsfw-birthday-porn). let's be friends B)

After turning in his midterm portfolio that he spent countless hours and sleepless nights to perfect, Marco deems it perfectly acceptable to spend twenty dollars at Walmart on junk food and NyQuil that he’s probably going to unhealthily ingest to catch up on all of the rest he had swapped out for energy drinks the past few weeks.

Being an art major is his dream, it’s his passion and his fire, but fuck, sometimes he just needs a break. Especially after slaving over a few choice pieces for so long that the lines and brush strokes were engraved into the insides of his eyelids.

He hasn’t so much as touched a paintbrush since he turned in his portfolio a few days ago, and though the weight off his shoulder feels nice and Marco kind of just wants to curl up and sleep until he can function properly again, he knows if he doesn’t do  _something_  creative soon, art block will infest him like a swarm of termites.

He doesn’t even want to remember that last time he suffered severe art block. It was fucking scarring.

The cart full of Oreos and Teddy Grahams and Baja Blast rattles loudly as he walks up and down the aisles aimlessly, mostly out of boredom but also possibly for a little bit of inspiration. He loves painting traditionally, but he feels like if he has to look at another rough off-white canvas in the next week, he’s going to punch a hole right through it. He needs something  _different_.

He stops abruptly in the kid’s arts and crafts aisle, taking in all of the bright colors and ‘paint by numbers’ and jewelry making kits, but his lips purse when he catches sight of a brightly colored package,  _Washable Kid’s Paint! Non-Toxic, easily removable, skin-safe!_ , popping out at him on the front. He reaches out and picks up the package, and when he walks out of Walmart a few minutes later with two bags full of junk food and three packages of the paint tucked in with the Oreos, he feels his fingers itch for a brush for the first time in days.

—

Though Marco has just finished his midterms, Jean is just getting started, and when Marco walks into their dorm, Jean’s hunched over a textbook, sitting at the desk, and his shoulders look taut with stress. He looks up when he hears the crinkle of plastic grocery bags, and when his eyes lock with Marco’s he offers a tired smile.

“How’s the studying going?” Marco asks, walking over to Jean. He sets the plastic bags on the floor before turning and placing his hands on Jean’s shoulders, digging his thumbs in gently. Jean groans and lets his head fall forward, hanging over his open textbook, and Marco rolls the pads of his thumbs in slow circles near the nape of Jean’s neck.

“I want to jump out of the window,” Jean mumbles, and Marco snorts out a quiet laugh.

“We’re only on the second floor. The most you’ll get is a broken bone, which unfortunately won’t excuse you from exams,” Marco says, leaning down to brush his lips against Jean’s ear. “How about you take a break, hm?”

Jean feels heat creep up his neck, and he turns around to bump his nose with Marco’s. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

Marco hums and grins, says, “Let me paint you.”

Jean’s face falls slightly in disappointment, hoping instead for a quick fuck or at least a heavy make out session instead to get his mind off exams. “ _Marco_ , you paint me all the time.”

His voice is whiny, but Jean doesn’t care, and Marco laughs a little before shaking his head, finally standing up fully and turning around to dig in the plastic bags, and when he turns back to Jean, he holds up a box and says, “No, let me paint _you_.”

It takes Jean a good four seconds to put two and two together, eyes scanning over the bold, colorful description on the box, but when it finally clicks to place in his head, his eyes widen and he lets out a quiet, “ _oh_.”

Marco smiles again, says, “Kinda tired of sketchbooks and canvases. Wanted to try something new.”

Jean swallows, tries to imagine the stroke of wet paint against his skin, and the thought is strangely appealing. He wonders vaguely why Marco hasn’t asked to paint him sooner. Marco must see the approval in his face because he runs a hand through Jean’s hair before saying softly,

“Take off your shirt and get on the bed, on your stomach.”

Jean tries to suppress a shiver, because though Marco’s voice is soft, there’s still an undertone of command that has Jean expectant and wanting, and Marco gives an encouraging smile as he walks over to his desk, grabs a few brushes and an empty cup before going to the bathroom and filling the cup with water.

By the time Marco returns, Jean is laid out flat on his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms, and Marco swallows thickly as he sees the gracious dipped curve right at Jean’s lower back and up to the swell of his ass, clad in tight jeans, the band of his briefs peeking out at the top. There are two dimples on Jean’s lower back that Marco can’t wait to fill with color.

Marco sets his supplies down on the bedside table, and Jean twitches a bit when the mattress dips, Marco swinging a leg over to straddle Jean’s hips. His thighs are tight around Jean, bracketed to keep him in place, and Marco lets himself take in the pale expanse of canvas he’s presented with. Gorgeous, curved and beautiful, and Marco gently runs his hands up Jean’s back, warm and heavy, and Jean sighs, relaxing a bit more into the bed.

“Whatcha gonna paint?” Jean murmurs when Marco pulls his hands away.

“Dunno yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

Marco trails his fingers down the knobs of Jean’s spine, earning a shiver, before reaching over, grabbing a brush, and getting to work.

With the first stroke of paint, Jean flinches because it’s wet and kind of cold, but as Marco continues on, he slowly relaxes again, and soon the strokes of the brush become soothing, smooth and consistent against his skin. Marco doesn’t exactly have a plan, mostly just splashing and blending colors at the moment, but soon he reaches over, switches to a thinner brush and a darker color, and when he brings the bristles back down on Jean’s skin, branches and trees begin blooming across his shoulder blades. They stretch and crawl down his side, and Jean flinches, ticklish, and Marco just bites his lip on a smile as he reaches over to switch brushes again.

Jean’s skin is the perfect shade of pale to make the colors pop gorgeously, and he sighs, half dozing, as Marco paints up the nape of his neck, moves down and paints snow capped mountains on the swells of Jean’s shoulder blades, bones shifting slightly as Jean shuffles a little against the bed. Marco scoots down a bit on Jean’s upper thighs so he can paint swirls of blue and green on Jean’s lower back, an ocean coming to life. He creates purple and yellow and orange sea creatures, nested in the dimples of Jean’s back, and he trails back up, creating a river of reds and pinks that fade into a sunset, rays shining down the line of Jean’s spine.

About an hour and a half later, Marco breathes in a gulp of air, wiping the hair from his face. He has smudges of paint up his arms, a few streaks across his cheeks, and when he sets his brush down on the table with a clatter, Jean blinks his eyes open.

“You done?” he mumbles sleepily. Marco hums in response, and Jean tries to twist his neck back. “What’d you end up painting?”

Marco swings his legs off of Jean so he’s kneeling next to him on the bed, and he runs a hand through Jean’s hair, the other teen leaning up into the touch. “I just painted what I see every time I look into your eyes.”

Jean rolls his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows. “God, you’re such a cheeseball.”

His cheeks are a shade pinker, though, and Marco grins as he leans down for a kiss. He reaches up to cup Jean’s face, and Jean sighs happily into his mouth, darting a tongue out to swipe against Marco’s bottom lip. Marco hums appreciatively, trailing his hand down to play with the hairs at Jean’s nape, and Jean finally pushes him up, tugging Marco so that he’s lying flat on his back, Jean straddling his hips, lips never breaking from each other.

Jean trails kisses down Marco’s throat, wet and hot, and when he rolls his hips slowly, languid and lazy, Marco groans into his mouth, digging his fingers into Jean’s thighs bracketing his hips. Jean sighs, fisting the front of Marco’s shirt and rocking down again, saying quietly,

“Want you to fuck me.” He’s breathless already, voice low. “Please.”

And how can Marco say no to  _that_? He’s always, always had trouble saying no to Jean anyways, and so he reaches over clumsily, knocking over a few brushes as he feels around for the lube and condoms. They don’t really need to keep them hidden since they’re roommates, and Marco eventually grabs a hold of them next to the cup of murky, paint colored water.

While he’s coating his fingers, Jean’s busy shimmying out of his god awful skinny jeans and briefs, and then helping Marco shuffle out of his own clothing. Once completely naked, Jean crawls back on top of Marco, straddling him before gripping Marco’s wrist, guiding his hand down to his entrance. Marco promptly slips two fingers in at once, and Jean sighs eagerly. They fucked that morning before class, so Jean’s not terribly tight, and soon Marco has him rocking down, fucking himself on the brunette’s fingers.

“C’mon, need you inside me,” Jean pants, and Marco breathes out a quiet, “ _yeah_ ,” as he removes his fingers, but right as Jean’s about to sink onto his cock, Marco stops him with a hand on his hip.

“Stop - wait. Can you…” Marco bites his lip, swollen and red. “Turn around for me?”

Jean raises an eyebrow, but complies, shifting around so that he’s straddling Marco again, but this time his back is facing Marco, and Marco’s eyes rake down the expanse of Jean’s back, painted in color.

Jean makes an impatient sound, and Marco rolls his eyes before gripping Jean’s waist, helping him position over his cock, and once Jean is fully seated, the blonde’s hands scramble backwards, looking for purchase, and Marco quickly links their fingers, giving Jean some leverage. Jean’s grip tightens, and he starts moving up and down, rolling his hips sinfully. Marco gasps and bucks his hips up opposite of Jean’s rhythm, and  _god_  he feels so fucking good.

When Marco hits his prostate, Jean cries out and arches his back in a beautiful curve. His muscles shift beneath his skin, tensing and releasing, and it’s like the universe Marco created on his skin comes tolife. The mountains wave and swim, and a drop of sweat drips down the river on Jean’s spine, pooling into the lake of his lower back, smearing the colors perfectly. The sight is fucking breathtaking.

Jean tosses his head back, gasping and whining, his grip on Marco’s fingers almost becoming painfully tight, and Marco’s so fucking elated, because he has this gorgeous piece of artwork right in front of him, and he’s not just talking about the painting. The curve of Jean’s jaw, the dip of his collar bones, the swell of his cheek and the color of his eyes, the bow of his lips, fucking  _everything_ , and fuck, Marco’s so, so goddamned enamored by this boy.  

Jean’s practically sobbing, and shit, Marco needs to see his face, needs to take in his expressions and needs to see the face he loves so much twisting in pleasure, so he sits up suddenly, flipping them over so Jean’s lying on his back. He bends Jean’s knees up before pushing back in with one quick thrust, and Jean gasps and arches his back again, reaching up to wind his arms around Marco’s neck.

Marco knows the paint is going to smear all over the sheets, but he couldn’t really give a shit right now, because Jean is writhing beneath him, desperate noises falling like water from his lips, and when he curls closer, Marco driving right into his prostate, Jean comes untouched, his cries echoing in Marco’s ear as he buries his face in the brunette’s sweat-slicked neck. His entire body tightens before going slack, and Marco only has to thrust a few more times before he’s coming himself, nose pressed into Jean’s temple and breath coming out harsh.

After he pulls out and ties the condom off, he flops down next to Jean, stretching out and sighing, sated and fucked out. Jean hums happily, stretching his arms over his head languidly like a cat just waking up from a nap. He rolls on his side and curls up against Marco, and when Marco glances over Jean’s shoulder, he sees the smears of paint against the sheets, a beautiful threatening rainbow of color. It’s washable paint, though, so Marco really can’t bring himself to mind at the moment.

“Maybe we should sleep on your bed tonight,” Marco says after a while, glancing away from the mess on the sheets and back to Jean’s flushed face. Jean just grins and leans up, pressing a kiss to Marco’s jaw.

“If you ever get bored of canvases again,” he says, “I’ll be right here.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“What  _did_  you end up painting on me, though?” Jean muses sleepily, pursing his lips and lying his head against Marco’s bicep. Marco curls his arm tighter around Jean’s shoulders, biting his lip.

“I painted the world.”

Jean snorts. “The world is pretty big. How did you manage to fit it all on there?”

“Well,” Marco says softly, burying his nose in Jean’s hair. “My world is lying right here next to me, so it wasn’t too hard.”

Jean rolls his eyes again, because Marco is such a fucking  _dork_ , but he’s his dork, and Jean secretly relishes in these dumb, corny things he says, because he knows Marco actually means them, from his heart and with all of the nerves in his entire being, and that thought makes Jean feel like he can fly.

He presses tighter against Marco’s side, tossing a leg across Marco’s hips. They can shower and clean up later, because at the moment, leaving Marco’s side is the last thing he wants to do.


End file.
